𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄
Her features shifted into conflict, brows creasing as she thought. My heart hammered against aching ribs, waiting.
If it had been three months ago, I would have attempted shattering her jaw just from sheer frustration at her seeming to contemplate as to whether or not she wanted to tell me the truth.
But now, a being on the precipice, eyes searching her own unfocused ones, I was caught in a battle of wills. Between what I used to be and what I was morphing into.
When her gaze finally cleared, it narrowed at me. Her hand began to move in signs.
I read them effectively, grateful that despite my earlier resistance, I had submitted to learning them—however infuriatingly humiliating the process had been.
"She has spoken to me since the very beginning."
